Chasing Jupiter

by Rachel Coker

  “No,” Frank said, cutting me off. “Juli. Do you know where she is? Has she contacted you?”

  Juli? He’d come all the way over here to ask about Juli’s disappearance when our whole family was falling to shreds?

  I worked to keep my voice level. “She’s with her boyfriend. I don’t know where they went.”

  Frank shook his head, his face falling. “Your family must be going crazy. You must be sick with worry about her.”

  Um, no. Actually, we’re sick with worry about the fact my grandfather nearly killed himself last night rolling around in broken glass.

  I pressed my lips together and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind me. “Is that the only reason you came over here? To ask about Juli?”

  Frank blinked, looking confused. “Yeah.”

  I nodded. “Right. Okay, then.” I turned away from him and put one hand on the knob.

  “Wait.”

  My body tensed. I turned slowly. Frank was still standing on the top step, frowning at me.

  “Are you okay, Scarlett? What has you so upset? Is it Juli?’

  Plunge. Go ahead and plunge. I took a step forward. “Do you love Juli? Is that why you’re always talking about her and staring at her with moony eyes? Because you’re in love with her?”

  “Um.” Frank shifted, looking confused. “Well, I like Juli. I always have. You know that.”

  A cold wave swept over me, despite the ninety-degree weather. I wrapped my arms around my chest to keep from shivering. “Why?”

  I knew it was rude to pester him. It was none of my business. And yet I had to know what it was that made Juli something to Frank that I could never be.

  “Well …” He cleared his throat. “She’s wild and beautiful and …” He gulped, refusing to meet my eyes. His voice faltered. “Well, she’s …”

  “She’s what?” I whispered.

  “She’s perfect.”

  Perfect. The word bit into my skin, gnawing through my chest. And then, suddenly, all of the emotions that had been building in me for the past two days seemed too heavy to hold back anymore. I shook my head, aware of the cynicism growing in my heart.

  “Perfect? You wouldn’t know perfect if it bit you on the nose.”

  Frank reached out a hand toward me. “Scarlett, what’s gotten into you? I don’t understand.”

  I jerked back to avoid his touch. “Of course you don’t understand!” I squeezed my arms tighter around my chest. “Juli isn’t perfect, Frank. We are perfect. Perfect together.” I shook my head, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, for such a smart kid, you are the stupidest boy I have ever met.”

  Then I turned one last time and slammed the door, leaving him alone on the porch. I couldn’t bear that look on his face. The expression of confusion and embarrassment and …

  And what? I sighed and trudged back up to my room. And why should I even care anymore?

  “Can I go with you?”

  “I already told you no.”

  Cliff frowned and crossed his arms. He was standing in front of the door, blocking my exit from the house. “You never take me anywhere anymore.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I took you on a walk the other day with Grandpop Barley. Remember?”

  “Wasn’t much of a walk,” he muttered. But he moved aside and let me pass.

  “Thanks.” I glanced up at the sky. Dark gray clouds covered the sun, and the tops of the trees were swaying in the breeze that was picking up. Looked like a typical late-summer thunderstorm was sweeping through the state.

  I’ll be back before it starts raining anyway.

  I hopped off the front porch and grabbed my bike. “I’m just going to visit with Mrs. Greene for a few minutes, okay, Cliff? If Mama asks where I am, tell her I’ll be home soon.”

  He kicked at the doorframe, avoiding my eyes. “Scarlett never talks to Cliff anymore,” he said, his voice soft. “She doesn’t care about family.”

  Referring to himself in third person. He hasn’t done that in forever. My leg hovered in the air, suspended halfway between climbing onto my bike and running over to shake some sense into Cliff. His words jabbed at my chest.

  Oh, he’s just doing it to get under my skin. I climbed all the way onto my bike and pushed up against the handlebars. “I can’t handle this right now, Cliff. Just tell Mama, okay?”

  Then I pushed off on the edge of my toes. Loose gravel slid under my sneakers. I pedaled hard and fast, away from the house and away from all the problems there.

  The air had that weird dank smell that enveloped everything before it rained. It smelled like peaches rolled around in upturned soil.

  I didn’t even know why I had to talk to Mrs. Greene so badly. I had no idea why I thought that she would say something to make things better, or at least all right.

  No cars were in her driveway when I pulled up. My bike skid to a stop at the edge of the front yard. Is no one home? Should I even bother ringing the doorbell?

  Something fluttered at the curtain by the kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief. She’s home.

  Ding-dong.

  For someone with a relatively modest-sized home, the Greenes had quite a resounding doorbell. I could hear it echoing deep within the house. It practically made the door shake.

  Mrs. Greene was smiling when she greeted me. Today, she was wearing a long floral dress with big red flowers, and had an apron tied around her waist. “Why, hello there, Scarlett! I thought I saw you from the window! How are you? Won’t you come in?”

  She led me inside and sat me down in the kitchen right up at the bar. It looked like she’d been baking recently. There was flour all over the counters, and the sink was piled up with dishes. One of her old cookbooks was lying open by the stove, but I was too far away to see what recipe she’d been trying out.

  “Oh, here. You have got to try one of these.” She leaned over and snatched a cookie off a china plate on the kitchen table. “I made them for the deacons’ wives meeting this evening. They’re lemon meringue cookies! Taste it, and tell me what you think.”

  I took a bite and wiped the crumbs off my face. “Delicious. I think you got the perfect combination of sweet and tart.”

  “I know!” She laughed and pulled off her apron. Grabbing a glass of iced tea, she settled onto the bar stool next to me and patted my arm. “So what brings you here today? Everything okay?”

  Hardly. I racked my brain trying to think how to answer the question. “Um, yes and no.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “It is.”

  I explained to her everything that had happened in the last few days, from Juli leaving to Grandpop Barley falling to the embarrassing episode with Frank. Every horrible, awkward, painful detail was included.

  “My parents have decided to send Grandpop Barley to a home in Savannah for mentally disabled people,” I explained, rubbing at a spot on the counter. “It’s about an hour away, which isn’t far, but Cliff is just devastated.”

  “Why? Why Cliff and no one else?”

  I blinked. “Well, I mean, we’re all sad, of course, but it’s for the best. You should have seen Grandpop the other night.” Shivers ran up my back. “His face and hands were bleeding, and it was just … awful.”

  Mrs. Greene stood up and motioned toward the pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen table. “Would you like some?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked over to her cabinet and pulled out a glass. Then she leaned against the counter. Her green eyes studied me carefully. “Let me ask you a question, Scarlett. If Grandpop Barley goes to this mental home, do you think that life will get better for you? For all of you?”

  What kind of a question is that? I blew into my cheeks and puffed them out. “I don’t know. I guess so. We won’t have to worry about him getting hurt, at least.”

  Mrs. Greene filled the glass and handed it to me before sitting down again. “How does Cliff feel about it? You said he was devastated?”

  “Yeah.” I took
a sip of the tea, and sucked on an ice cube that had slid with it. “Everything’s just been so crazy lately. I guess I haven’t had much attention to give him. It’s just …” I sat up in my seat and leaned my elbows on the counter. “He doesn’t seem to understand how life works. He has it in his head that we should all just work together and figure out a plan and it’ll get better, but life just doesn’t happen like that. Know what I mean?”

  Mrs. Greene was quiet for a long time, sipping on her tea and staring at me in silence. I squirmed. Did I say something wrong? Mrs. Greene sighed and set down her glass. “I wish I could figure out something to tell you, Scarlett, but I don’t think you’ll like anything I have to say. It’s like I told you, sometimes it takes more than just your own strength to find true peace and contentment. I’ll certainly pray that by sending Grandpop Barley away, your family will be able to heal completely. But I just don’t know if that will make things any better.”

  I stiffened. “Well, I should probably go.”

  Immediately, her face crumpled. “Oh, Scarlett! I’ve made you upset.”

  “No, no. You haven’t.” I wiped off my mouth and handed her my glass. “But it looks like it’s about to storm, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it on my bike.”

  Mrs. Greene’s eyes looked doubtful, but she placed my cup in the sink and let me leave. “Be safe! And I’ll be praying for you,” she called as I ran down the front steps.

  It was already starting to drizzle when I left her house. By the time I reached my driveway, I was stuck in a full-on rainstorm, with wind and stinging raindrops whipping at my face. My legs were aching from pedaling so hard, but I finally reached the end of the driveway. I dropped my bike and ran up the front steps. Cliff was still sitting by the door waiting for me.

  My mind was whirling from my conversation with Mrs. Greene. Was she right? Should I be fighting to keep Grandpop Barley here too? I clenched my fists into little balls and then released them. Tight and loose. My heartbeat pounded through my wrists.

  No, I just need to let it go. Anything for the sake of making things simpler around here. Cliff would be so much easier to handle without Grandpop Barley around, and I don’t want to make things any more stressful for Mama and Dad. I couldn’t bear to see that incident after Juli left played out all over again.

  “Cliff’s been waiting for Scarlett,” Cliff said. He glared up at me with his brown eyes. His hair was sticking up off his forehead like he’d been running his hand through it all afternoon. “Scarlett needs to talk to Cliff.”

  I sighed. He was blocking the doorway again. “Cliff, just let me get through, okay? I have to fix something for supper.”

  “No. Scarlett needs to talk to Cliff right now!”

  Okay, now this was starting to get on my nerves. The wind was howling all around us, and I could hardly hear myself think. Now was not the time for Cliff to be getting weird again.

  “Cliff, please. Just move, okay?” The words were spoken through gritted teeth. My shirt was sticking to my skin; my hair was matted to the back of my neck.

  He stood up and gave me a big shove. “No!” His chin was shaking. “Scarlett must listen to Cliff!”

  His push sent me off balance, and I stumbled backward. I nearly fell down the front steps, but my hand caught hold of a porch pillar and I managed to regain my balance. Clinging to the wooden beam, I rubbed the hair out of my eyes and screamed, “Cliff! Just stop it! Stop talking like that! Can’t you see I don’t want to talk right now?”

  We both fell silent. My words hung in the air between us. My chest was heaving up and down, and so was Cliff’s.

  Thunder boomed, and a few seconds later lightning lit up the sky.

  Immediately, I regretted shouting at Cliff. It wasn’t like me at all. I never yelled, never lost my cool. I sighed and stepped forward. “Look, Cliff, I’m sorry, I …”

  Shaking his head, he yanked open the door and ran inside, banging it shut behind him. The sound of the door slamming into place rang in my ears. I reached forward to touch the knob and saw that my hand was trembling. What’s the matter with me?

  Turning around, I walked over to the edge of the porch and sat on the top step. Deep, slow breaths, Scarlett. Healing breaths.

  The look on Cliff’s face was ingrained in my head. That mixture of hurt, anger, and, worst of all, disappointment. Disappointment in me for not sticking up for him or for our family.

  He just doesn’t understand. I squared my shoulders. Cliff always says that I don’t need to be afraid of growing up. Well, this is it. This is growing up. Taking responsibility.

  Somehow, it didn’t seem that way.

  I’ll just go inside and apologize to him after dinner. Read to him, if I have time. He’ll be okay once we can distance him from Grandpop Barley’s madness.

  I stood and brushed off my soaking-wet jeans. We’ll all be okay.

  I folded Grandpop Barley’s clothes neatly and placed them in his old leather suitcase. His initials were still engraved on the front: GFB. My fingers traced the letters before I closed the case with a slam and locked it.

  I wondered if they’d have peanut butter at the home. If they allowed red ties and good bedtime stories.

  Grandpop Barley never heard the ending to Peter and Wendy. For some reason, the thought pinched my heart. I sent up a silent prayer that the new home would have books about Peter Pan.

  Old Clunker was running in the driveway. I could hear it all the way upstairs. As I started toward the truck, I noticed Cliff sat in the doorway of Grandpop Barley’s room and stared down the steps with a sullen expression.

  “Knock, knock,” he said.

  “Not now.” I brushed past him, refusing to look at his red-faced tears. I’d already apologized to him a few days before, and we were good now. We didn’t need another repeat of the crying and shouting incident.

  “It’s not fair,” I heard him mutter. “Grandpop Barley’s not crazy. He just misses Mrs. Nice. It makes him sad.”

  What does Cliff know about love? What does Cliff know about anything besides the Spanish Civil War? I pressed my lips together. “It’s just not worth fighting, Cliff.”

  And it wasn’t. Nothing felt worth fighting. I adjusted my grip on the suitcase. “Come on, Dad’s waiting for us in the truck.” I headed down the stairs, struggling under the weight of the luggage.

  Dad honked the horn. “Kids!” he shouted.

  My heart sank. Once I loaded that suitcase into the tailgate of the truck, it would be the last drive we’d ever take with Grandpop Barley. And after today, we wouldn’t see him much at all.

  Cliff ran to the edge of the staircase, leaning over the rail. His hair stuck up on his forehead, as if he’d been trying to pull it all out. “No! Cliff’s not going! This is family. And family doesn’t leave family.”

  I turned on the steps, sighing. Really? More referring to yourself in third person? “Come on, Cliff. You just don’t understand.” Cliff never understood when it came to dealing with people or situations. “Let’s just go.”

  “No.” Tears glittered in his swollen eyes. His face pinched a show of stubbornness. “We can’t go with them. We can’t let them do this, Scarlett. Grandpop Barley is part of our family.”

  I shook my head, unable to say what was replaying in my head: But this isn’t really much of a family anymore. I looked away and reached the bottom of the steps. “Coming!” I called.

  “Scarlett, don’t!” Cliff shouted, leaning against the railing with one arm outstretched toward me.

  What happened next is ingrained in my mind forever.

  The first thing I heard was a horrible crack—the sound of breaking wood. A horrible rushing sounded inside my head, pounding along with my beating heart.

  I froze, every muscle in my body tense. I wanted to turn around—I needed to turn around—but my body wouldn’t move.

  The truck door slammed. Dad took a step toward the house, squinting at me. His face looked tense. “Scarlett? What was that?�
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  Finally, I turned. Cliff was sprawled across the floor, splinters of wood lying around him. His head was turned at a strange angle. I stared at him. At his motionless body. At the broken railing.

  And then, as if someone had sloshed a bucket of cold water over me, all the nerves in my body woke up in a deafening scream.

  I was on the floor beside him in less than a second and rolled him over. His face and hands were covered in blood from his mouth. It trickled onto my jeans, staining them red. The faint thought crossed my mind that maybe he hit his chin on the banister. A few of his teeth looked chipped. “Cliff!” I shook him slightly. “He’s not waking up,” I muttered to myself. My voice rose. It sounded thick and clogged, like I was in a dream. “He’s not moving. Dad, he’s not moving!” I screamed.

  Dad bounded into the doorway, clutching the frame with white knuckles. He swore out loud before collapsing on the floor and pushing me out of the way. “Don’t touch him!”

  My blood flashed between an unbearably hot tingle and a paralyzing freeze. The room seemed to twist and spin. My eyes worked like two little cameras, picking up all of the details around me.

  The wood chips on Cliff’s clothes. The jagged pieces of railing scattered across the hardwood floor. The blood smearing Cliff’s unmoving head.

  Shaking, I turned toward the doorway. Mama stood in the threshold, her face white. Her shoulders heaved up and down in labored breaths as she stared at Dad cradling Cliff’s body. Wordlessly, her eyes moved across the room and met mine.

  “He’s still breathing,” Dad said as he bent close to Cliff’s face. “He’s still alive. But he’s not opening his eyes.”

  I attempted to speak, but no words came out. I glanced at Dad and tried to clear my throat. “What do we.?” The words were scratchy and weak. “Dad, what do we do?”

  Dad’s tone was quiet and tense. He didn’t look at me or Mama. “Call 9–1–1.” Neither of us moved. His head snapped around, sudden anger contorting his face. He cursed and shouted again for us to call 9–1–1.

  I sprung to my feet and ran to the kitchen where the phone was sitting on the counter by the refrigerator. My hands were shaking as I rang the number. Oh, dear God, don’t take him. Oh, please let him be okay. Oh, please don’t—